Nuts in a Train Wreck

Lynn is our Atlanta friend and also the guy for whom we do occasional contract work.  The week before the Fourth of July, out of the blue, he sent us a package of Georgia Pecans.  These are cinnamon and sugar coated, toffee glazed, chocolate dipped, made in heaven pecans.  It was a wonderful surprise and Bill especially was looking forward to the UPS delivery, which, according to the email notice, was due the next day.

As I was gathering up Mom’s plate and cup and utensils after dinner that evening, I suddenly heard him utter a mournful, “Oh no!” from the Arizona Room, followed by a plaintive groan.

I poked my head into the doorway, balancing Mom’s dirty dishes and cutlery in one hand and her half-full waste can in the other.  “What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” I asked, staring at him as he sat on the sofa, hunched over his tablet.

“No, not really,” he muttered morosely, shaking his head.

“What happened?” I asked, moderately concerned that he might have erroneously trusted a fart.

“My nuts got in a train wreck.”

Okay, I thought to myself, this could actually be more serious that a renegade fart.  “So… um, does it really hurt?  Should we go to the emergency room?”

“No, no, no.  Not MY nuts.  Lynn’s nuts.”

“Oh?  Well, alrighty then.  So did Lynn go to the emergency room?”

“No,” he said, starting to laugh.  “The pecans he sent.  They were in a train wreck somewhere.”

“Really?  How do you know?”

“I got an email that the delivery would be delayed because of a train derailment.”

“Well that sucks,” I replied sympathetically.  “At least no one got hurt.”

“No one but my nuts,” he exclaimed, starting to pout again.

trainwreck1

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